


Release

by Impressioniste



Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-15
Updated: 2013-10-15
Packaged: 2017-12-29 11:54:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,015
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1005120
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Impressioniste/pseuds/Impressioniste
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hawke helps Anders learn to let go.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Release

A familiar voice was calling his name.

“Anders? _Anders_.”

It took Anders a moment to come back to himself, and an even longer moment to realize he had been elsewhere in the first place.

He blinked once, twice. He looked down. Hawke was sprawled out beneath him, his shirt half-off, trousers unlaced, hair mussed and disheveled against the pillows, lips dark and kiss-swollen.

The laces of his own shirt hung down, dangling in mid-air, swaying back and forth in the silence. Anders caught his breath, held it in for a moment, and let it out in a hot, heavy rush.

“Hawke.”

Hawke’s lips formed a familiar expression, a little twist at the corner, a smirk-that-wasn’t. “Welcome back.”

Anders felt himself flush slightly. He was a warm, attentive lover. He was supposed to be, anyway. A warm, attentive lover did not completely lose his head off in nowhere-land in the middle of a lovemaking session.

Hawke’s hands were resting on his thighs, his large, callused thumbs rubbing in little circles, massaging Anders fondly through his trousers. The warmth, the pressure, the _affection_ in the gesture made Anders’ breath catch in his throat.

“You left me for a minute.” Hawke’s tone was light, but Anders could hear the concern behind it.

“I’m sorry.” It was a lame, half-automated reply, but Anders still meant it.

“There’s no reason for that, now,” Hawke stopped stroking little circles into Anders’ thighs and pushed himself up on his elbows. “It just means I’m not doing my job.”

“It’s not you, Hawke. It’s got nothing to do with y—” Anders replied hastily, quick to reassure. He found himself cut off, however, as Hawke sat up completely and shifted his weight, catching Anders off guard, reversing their positions.

“Hawke—” Anders began, but Hawke interrupted him with a kiss.

“Shhh,” Hawke hissed gently, pressing his lips to the side of Anders’ mouth, trailing a line of slow, languid kisses along the side of his jaw, laying them one by one against the rough prickle of stubble.

Anders sighed, squeezing his eyes shut, trying to lose himself in the sea of emotions and sensations Hawke evoked in him. His grip on reality relaxed a little, but even as he felt it slacken, Anders scrabbled to regain his hold.

He _couldn’t_ lose himself completely, and that was the problem.

Hawke’s kisses were hot and wet and wonderful on his mouth, his jaw, his throat, but instead of moaning and writhing against the pillows as he should have been, Anders was silent, retreating to some strange, quiet place inside his own head.

He knew that they were locked safely together in Hawke’s bedroom, just the two of them without interruptions, and yet, even so, he still could not quite let go, could not completely shake the feeling of uneasiness welling up in the pit of his stomach, the fear that they would be caught by templars that didn’t even exist, and torn apart.

“Stay with me, Anders.”

Hawke’s voice brought him back around again, just like it had when he’d slipped away a few moments prior. Anders tried focusing his gaze on Hawke, concentrating on the curves and lines of his face, the stiffness of his beard, the softness in his eyes.

Anders’ shirt was riding up, exposing his stomach, and Hawke let his hand rest there, fingers absently tracing invisible lines across the slender, taut planes of flesh and muscle, and Anders twitched, involuntarily.

It was so very **different** being with Hawke, so different from everything he’d experienced before, so much _more_ of all the right things, so much _less_ of all the unpleasant ones.

In the Circle, it was all about holding on—holding on to his humanity, his sanity, any tiny scrap of freedom he could cling to. He had learned early on that letting go was dangerous, that the templars and the Circle had already taken almost everything from him, and whatever was left needed to be locked away safe and sound, beyond their reach. Beyond _anyone's_ reach. Anders had expected to keep those thoughts and feelings locked away for the rest of his life.

But then, there was Hawke. The best and worst thing to have ever happened to him, someone who managed to give him more strength and courage than anyone else ever had, and yet, somehow, there was still a deep, dark, unshakeable fear that he could not get rid of, no matter how much he wanted to, no matter how hard he tried.

Hawke’s large, dark eyes were focused on him again, and Anders tried to smile.

“Anders.” He loved the way Hawke said his name, clung to the sound of Hawke’s voice as it fell on his ears, warm, and rich, and affectionate, and full of so much love that it hurt.

Hawke had his full attention again, now, and when he saw that he did, he smiled. He rubbed the curve of Anders’ jaw with the curve of his thumb, and pressed a gentle kiss to his mouth.

“I love you.” Hawke’s breath was hot against his ear, little more than a whisper, but the essence of his voice still carried through, sending shivers down Anders’ spine.

“Keep telling me that,” Anders murmured, his voice breaking. He needed to hear it again, needed to find some way to reassure himself, remind himself that this really was different with Hawke, that he was safe and whole, that he didn’t need to hold on so tightly to everything anymore, that he could let go, at last.

“I love you, Anders. More than anything.” Hawke repeated himself without hesitation, without protest, without question.

“Again,” Anders all-but begged, not caring how vulnerable the very act of asking made him feel. Hawke’s arms were around him, Hawke’s voice was in his ear, and that was all that mattered.

And Hawke obliged, indulging his request again, without reservation. And again, and again, and again.

And finally, slowly, in broken, shattered bits and pieces, Anders felt himself finally start to slip, telling himself that Hawke would be there to catch him when he fell.


End file.
